Up the Stairs and Into the Face of Death
by LaSchifosaVita
Summary: Percy Weasley has a lot to worry about as of late: his job is in danger, his love life is a mess, he isn't speaking to his family, but at least he doesn't have to work hard to defend his title as the most neurotic person in all of London. But he's going
1. Chapter 1

**Down the Corridor, Up the Stairs, and Into the Face of Death**

**Alternatively, If You Want To Be Particular: Down Five Floors in the Lift, Take a Left, and Into the Face of I'm Going to Die**

A/N: This story is going to be PW/MM. It is going to be AU, and Minerva McGonagall is going to be in her late forties.

I got the idea for this story after a conversation with a friend about how there are thousands of stories available about older male characters and younger female ones and how this could possibly be a bit of a double standard. Even in the books, you find older man/younger woman couples like Remus and Tonks and Bill and Fleur. Minerva McGonagall and Percy Weasley seemed to be the most compatible couple that I could think of, and if someone were to exclude the movies and a handful of lines from the books, Minerva McGonagall could easily be thought of as in her forties. I'm calling this story AU, because if it is possible for AU to cover Harry being put in Slytherin, people who had died being alive, there being no magic in the wizarding world, and all the other countless things AU can be used to achieve, so please do not try to argue with me over a simple change in ages.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any other things that I might happen to borrow in the path of this story. I barely even own the idea of this story.

**Chapter 1: In which, Percy is not fired**

Percy POV

I think my life might be ending.

I am going blind.

I think my heart might explode out of my chest.

I might just keel over and die right here and now.

Or now.

Maybe now.

Or not.

I would not deserve it.

Ever since the attack at Hogwarts, people have been losing confidence in the Ministry's abilities to protect them, and the public was in an all out panic. If Hogwarts could be attacked, then couldn't just about everywhere? The Prophet was filled with terrified editorials, which were steadily growing more and more terrified. It had been suggested that the Ministry disband temporarily and operate solely as an army.

As that plan of action began to gain popularity, nearly everyone in the Ministry were waiting in a state of limbo. Waiting to be fired. Waiting to be promoted. Waiting for everyone to turn around so that they can just lay their head in their intray and cry.

Unfortunately, you can only wait for so long. Eventually what you are waiting for will come, and sometimes it is not as bad as you thought. On the other hand, it can sometimes be worse, but it is better than the waiting, because once you know you have options. You can do something to work towards some kind of goal. Even if that goal is pulling your face out of your intray and drying off before too many people see you.

All the people who don't have jobs that are considered necessary to the war effort are being kept busy. I'm writing addresses on envelopes. Suddenly, I can see that my options are much less painful than I expected, and I will not have to work as hard as I thought I would to pull my face out of my intray and dry my eyes off. Metaphorically of course.

Scrimgeour sent a note inviting me to some fancy dinner party. I might still have a job. Why would he want to provide alcohol to someone he is about to fire? There is no way that would be a safe thing to do.

I live in an apartment building for Ministry employees who want to live in Muggle London. It is a modest red brick building with green shutters. The grass is kept short, and they pay people to walk in and out of the building in different outfits, so no one has to worry about being seen coming and going from the building.

My flat is on the eighth floor across from the elevator. The amount of floors sometimes reminds me of how my childhood home used to be on nights when I cannot sleep. Not that there are many, of course.

I never really pay too much attention to anyone that lives in the building. I do my laundry late at night to avoid glares and pity. I summon my mail to my room. Excluding what I was shown on my tour of the building several years ago, I have no idea what is beyond the elevator. I know that on the third floor Dumbledore keeps some of the teachers that work at the school who want a home away from Hogwarts and Hogsmeade. In the flat next to mine is the son of a rich Beauxbatons graduate, who keeps me up late at night throwing parties. Then, there is a mother with two children. Her husband works in Magical Law Enforcement, and he hasn't been home in weeks. He left towards the beginning of the month with four stuffed suitcases, and his office is looking more like a home.

There isn't much to motivate me to meet the neighbors anyway. The place is growing emptier and emptier as more people are choosing places to live that are more expensive but at least safer from Death Eater attack.

**Chapter 2 In which, Percy has the one night stand from Hell**

I do not understand my life sometimes. I think that if I were to just sit back and pretend that I had no worries, and I just let things happen randomly to me without a care in the world, I would not get into quite as many _predicaments_.

I should not be here. I should have my pants on. I should be in my flat on the eighth floor across from the elevator, and while I am in there I should be wearing undergarments under the pants that I should be wearing. Unless I were showering. My attire would be appropriate.

However, it is generally much wetter in a shower.

Scrimgour suggested I "loosen up a bit," and he gave me a drink. Dolores insisted I share a bottle of firewhiskey with her. However, the alcohol certainly made talking with her easier. I swear the woman has gone completely batty ever since she came back from Hogwarts. Then, Kingsley Shacklebolt from the auror office decided I should also try to be more casual and share another drink.

I think I might have lost count somewhere after that, but you would think that Fred and George had possessed the entire Ministry in some kind of extremely elaborate prank the way the entire party was trying to get me drunk.

Arguably, I do feel noticeably better. If I were to begin sobbing, I would easily have enough dignity to hide under my desk. If my motor skills were still up to that level.

About midnight, I went upstairs in search of something. Most likely a bucket. It was crowded, so I found myself wedged up against a painting. Luckily, I had enough of my wits about me to try to stare intently at the painting, so I do not find myself with another drink in my hand. I do not recall what exactly was on the painting, but I know that it made me feel my stomach rising. Not in the vomiting way, like earlier but in a nice way.

I talked to a few people after that, but I continued returning to that painting. After another hour or so, I began to feel dizzy and somewhat nauseous again. I remember talking to a blonde woman. The same one I'm next to right now.

I think my life just ended all over again, or it will be ended soon. I would have preferred to be fired by the Ministry and killed by one of Dumbledore's friends. Okay, the second one will be happening very soon, and I found out via answering machine, so I was more than forewarned.

"Hi, Fleur, It's me, Bill. I just wanted to say I'm sorry."

I think it is very likely that Bill had all his vocal chords destroyed in a freak accident. One that involves mummies and an ancient curse. He could have been inside a pyramid filled with more gold than Gringotts when suddenly hundreds of mummified icky dead things hurled themselves out of hiding and dived hungrily at his throat…

They were very tiny mummified icky things, because they couldn't have hidden behind things otherwise, and, er, they wanted to make sure that he could not speak, because it was necessary to open the door to the treasure?

"Fleur, you know I didn't mean it. You're perfect, and you know it. Just talk to me."

On second thought, it would be much more likely for Fred and George to be at fault. They have always had a bit of a problem with letting other people have some attention, so they decided to start permanently disfiguring their siblings larynges. Unfortunately, this would also result in my eventual injury.

"Fleur, would you answer the damn phone. I told you I was sorry. I promise I'll make it all up to you. Just call me back."

Great. Terrific. I really wish you would kill me now and get it over with, person lying next to me who also had sex with my older brother. Most likely, on a more regular basis. Also, there is a good chance it was probably better most of those times. Otherwise, I would understand her not answering the phone.

"Fleur, please, I am coming over in a few minutes."

I feel like I want to say every word on the list of words punishable by detention or point loss list-or whipping if you listen to Filch- of Hogwarts. Yes, I do still have it memorized. Being told one hundred and seventy six swear words by the headmaster and then told to memorize it is not something easily forgotten. I did not imagine ever feeling such a strong urge to break a rule, but I suppose, once you've broken all the unspoken rules among family-save murder, you have to continue somehow.

You would think if one night stands were so awful people would have them less often.

A/N: This is getting a little out of hand, but I'm looking for someone to beta this, if only to give it a read through, so I have someone else's opinion.


	2. Chapter 2

**Down the Corridor, Up the Stairs, and Into the Face of Death**

**Alternatively, If You Want To Be Particular: Down Five Floors in the Lift, Take a Left, and Into the Face of I'm Going to Die**

**A/N:** I'm still looking for a beta reader if there is anyone interested, or any opinions on any of the OCs would be gratefully appreciated. I'm still debating how big of parts to give each of them. I was planning on getting some Minerva into this chapter, but every time I wrote a scene with her it just seemed too jarring a switch between Percy's POV and Minerva's, but maybe I'll give her a whole chapter of her own soon. Part of me wants to have a bit of fun with Percy before bringing her in, because as I rethink the timeline, it seems to be getting longer and longer. Also, a bit of an apology for Finny's language. I might need to consider what words can be used before I have to bump the rating up.

NaughtyKittyKat: Thanks so much for reviewing. I've always been a bit of an old movie addict, so when I think of Maggie Smith I generally picture her in Love and Pain and the Whole Damn Thing, which I think she made when she was in her late 30's. Maybe if I can find a picture of her when she made Quartet or from around that year, people won't look at me as though I'm quite as insane. They're doing it over messenger or something, but I know they're still doing it.

Mandy of the Amoeba: Thanks for reviewing. I do try.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Don Birnam, who seems to appear somehow in a good chunk of my stories. Told you I liked old movies.

**Chapter 3: In which, Percy is now someone's best friend**

**Percy's POV**

I rushed out of the flat I was in and onto the street. As I considered apparating home, I contemplated my lack of a future. As soon as Bill finds out, and I'm sure she will tell him, I'll be killed in a horrifically bloody way. For some reason, I have a feeling that it will involve being stabbed repeatedly with my own quill as I am bashed repeatedly over the head with my in tray which will be made possible by another one of my siblings tagging along for my murder. We Weasleys do everything together. Just look at Fred and George.

I mean that exactly like it sounds.

I know that Fred would be first in line to bash me over the head with my in tray. Or, now that I think of it, he would give the idea to George, so that he would be free to gauge my eyes out with my Head Boy badge. I wonder whatever happened to it. If you were to tell me that I would not have a clue where my badge was a few years ago, I would have laughed in your face. Now, I know that I make a habit of leaving things behind that I care about, and it seems very likely. If I were to live, I would bet Hermes would be next.

It took me several hours to get home, and it was near noon. I suppose it would have been quicker if I would have just apparated, but apparently walking extremely long distances is a wonderful way to work towards my long term goal of completely ruining my life before I die.

"Oh, hello, I've been meaning to run into you for ages. The name's Finny. We've been living next door to one another for months."

I have a problem. He's smiling brightly and at a distance of about ten centimeters from my face. My head hurts, and I still feel nauseous, and I'm going to need to write a will. I do not have time to socialize with my neighbors, especially annoying ones, who keep me up late at night throwing parties.

I truly meant to say some sort of greeting, but the best I could manage was some kind of a grunt.

"Ah, right. Well, you really never seemed like one to go out on the piss, but I guess I was wrong about you," he said cheerily. I suppose he supposed that I cared much about what he was saying about me; however, I found myself staring hopefully at a spot slightly above his left ear, when the number of my flat hung on the door.

"I feel even worse about keeping you up all those nights. I used to think that you'd refuse if I invited you. I'll be sure to invite you now, of course," he added, in what appeared to be an offer of friendship.

Somehow I hadn't realized that the easiest way to get him to stop speaking would be to say something myself, so I just stared at him with an annoyed expression on my face as he continued to ramble on. Losing patience, I said, as abruptly as possible, "fine." Waiting for him to look shocked at my utter rudeness, I watched him open the door and stand there expectantly. He seemed to be waiting for me to go in, as opposed to just having a small delay in his offended facial expression muscles.

So, now that I find myself in his home, I admit it isn't what I expected. I thought the debauchery would have been more apparent at first glance than it was.

He has matching curtains hanging at all the windows, which are rather unlike the ones in my flat, and they not only match but they are also similar to something my mother would have been fond of covered in pale rosettes.

"I find that the best way to fight a hangover is just to get pissed all over again. Want anything," Finny shouted from the kitchen watching me curiously.

Ignoring Finny's possible involvement in the conspiracy, I murmured my agreement.

After finding myself inexplicably coaxed into retelling, Finny claiming that he only did so because I looked like I was going to use his curtains as a hanky, I was awaiting the part of the conversation that I should have anticipated when it began. Anticipated and dreaded.

"Do you realize that in one story you managed to insult your social life, self-sufficiency, work performance, and, _heck, _you even insulted your fucking ability?"

"Ability to do what," I asked drowsily.

"Your ability to fuck. Are you even listening to me?"

"No," I said. Even through the fog that was clouding my brain I noticed that I was speaking insanely slowly and obnoxiously.

"You also made a joke about incest."

"Do I look like someone who makes jokes?"

"Fine, then, would you rather have accused your brothers of incest," he asked sounding a bit more amused than annoyed.

"Yes," I said in the same way as I had been speaking before.

"Alright, you also insulted me. I think you might have said your brother, Will, was shit in bed, too," Finny said trying to hide a smile.

"I doubt Will'll mind."

"You're a neurotic nutter, you know that?"

"Are you just trying to insult me back or do you have a point?"

"Besides that you're my new best friend, even if you're a barmy git, who is turning into quite the piss-artist in one night, no, I don't really have a point."

I am probably the first person to ever look so offended at being called someone's best friend, and I think my record will be safe for some time.

"Eh, maybe you should be heading back to your flat. Sleep it off. Not kill me," Finny said, correctly reading my facial expressions for the first time.

**Chapter 4: In which, Percy proves that he really is a neurotic nutter**

I returned to my flat almost reluctantly. I half expected Bill to be there ready to kill me.

However, I just returned home to an angry Hermes, who had been left outside all night. And morning. And rather far into the afternoon.

After a quick check of the flat, just in case anyone was hiding somewhere, and finishing the work I had brought home to do today, I took my neighbor's advice and attempted to get a bit of sleep.

After two hours, I gave up on the idea.

The reassurance that my flat was perfectly safe, ironically, was enough to bring all kinds of new worries.

Firstly, if I was drunk enough to leave with someone, there's a chance I might have embarrassed myself or the Ministry. Which means it might be time to line the intray with tissues again.

Second, if Bill isn't preparing to kill me now, when is he? And, why is he not here yet?

This leads to the third problem, the biggest worry of all, why did she sleep with _me_? I'm not handsome. If I knew her, I would probably remember what she looks like, and my personality is not that attractive, either.

The most likely assumption is that she knew that I was Bill's estranged brother, and she decided to use me to get back at him, for whatever it is that he had done. Though, does she even plan on telling him? If their relationship is over then she wouldn't really have a reason to tell him. Though, why would she even have done it, if she planned to keep it to herself?

Lastly, what in the world could Bill have done to deserve this?

After watching the ceiling fan spin for six hours. It spins 219 times a minute. 13,140 times an hour. Which means I watched my ceiling fan spin 78,840 times.

At some point I ended up asleep at the couch, and I woke up with enough time, for a functioning human, to eat, shower, gather things for work, make my own clothes, get dressed in them, and achieve world peace; however, I managed to only sort of shower. I also somehow thought that weighing my head would be an effective way of proving if it was as heavy as it felt, without considering that I did not know what a normal head weighs.

**Chapter 6: In which, Percy disagrees with the Minister**

**Or Chapter 6: The author wants to end on a more interesting note**

All the major symptoms of hangovers and sleep deprivation are present: irritability, thirst, sensitivity to sunlight and noise, nausea, slurred speech, headache, fatigue, and death.

Maybe not the death. At least not yet.

It'll come soon, though. I think the secretary noticed something was wrong.

I think everyone noticed something was wrong. Umbridge took a break from her usual skittishness to give me annoyed looks. However, Rufus Fudge gave me a sly smile, and Eric Munch looked almost pityingly at me from the other side of the security desk.

Nothing exciting happened for the majority of the morning, which was fortunate, because I am sure it would have been more than noticeable to the Minister. I sat, reading through press clippings about the new Ministry regime, as I obsessed over my current situation, and, somewhere in the background, contemplated over whether anyone needed to be informed to the suspicions that the Minister might be a vampire.

However, a memo came zooming in that almost erased my mind of self-pitying thoughts.

Father had lost his promotion. He's now working in the Office for House-Elf Relocation, because they had no where else to put him at the time, and, it seems, the oldest Ministry workers are the ones that are being fired first, and Father is not really among the youngest at the Ministry.

Apparently, one of the aurors were injured in a fight with Death Eaters and Inferi. This alone would have been enough to secure him a nice job in a different department, but he also lost his son in the same fight. Father didn't stand much of a chance.

When he first received his promotion, I remember thinking how my father hadn't moved in the Ministry in as far as I could remember. His love of Muggles, which was too strong to be under swept, had kept him from a promotion before.

My father was always miserable at hiding his emotions. No one is ever surprised at the number of my siblings as soon as they meet my parents. They're always so openly affectionate. He would let Fred and George get away with anything. Ginny, in theory, would be the most excepting of Father's open shows of affection, being the only girl. Or at least in theory.

So, anyway, Father couldn't hide his love of Muggles, which could only be described as blind. He has as many Muggle friends as I've seen Crumple Horned Snorkbacks, and he had finally found himself a promotion. Part of me wondered how he was handling leaving Perkins and his old office. Another wondered how he felt about still being beneath his son at work. Both of them agreed that they did not really want to find out.

Father is not the only one who lost their job today. Apparently, the Ministry had been hoping that more people would have quit their jobs, and today thirty employees lost their positions mostly in the Department for Magical Games and Sports, which means it isn't long until Quidditch is gone, and parts of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, which seems even further than what should be done. Why fire the people whose jobs is to encourage _cooperation_ among _magical_ people?

A/N: I'm not too happy with this chapter, but I think I might just submit it and give it a rewrite if I feel like I have to. It isn't quite the exciting ending the last chapter got, but maybe a quicker update will make up for it. Eh, at least you got a bit of a build up towards what is going on in Percy and his dad's relationship.


End file.
